


An Exercise in Serenity

by dudewhereismypie



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve is badass and Bucky is pinning, brief homophobic language, seriously so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudewhereismypie/pseuds/dudewhereismypie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky had always prided himself on being observant, and Steve would agree that he was about everything but himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Exercise in Serenity

Bucky had always prided himself on being observant. He was aware of his surroundings with a sharpness that most lacked, he knew how to prod people just right to have a positive response and, frankly, being someone that could read the shifts in Natasha’s mood was proof enough of how perceptive he was.

That was not just a matter of personal pride, but also a professional skillset essential to his job. if Bucky wasn’t observant he couldn’t detect threats, intentions, read the needs that could soothe the panic of frightened civilians (panic was easy to see, what could stop it not so much). If he wasn’t observant he wouldn’t know what made the criminals in front of him tick, he couldn’t explore it to be as menacing as possible, he wouldn’t be as good as he is. Being part of a security corporation was as much about reading people as was about combat training and, yes, Bucky had both. He is damn good at both.

Which did not explain why he didn’t know he was in a date until Steve kissed him.

Steve was smart mouthed and stubborn, unashamedly protective of friends but also of strangers that he deemed in danger. He had a _fight me_ life motto when it came to injustices but in a way that made him seem completely unruffled while doing so, like he could wipe the floor with you without lifting his pinkie or wrinkling his shirt. It was badass. It was the perfect combination to be Bucky’s friend right on the spot.

When Bucky got the job at SHIELD Steve had been working there for years as a part of the strategic and tactical division, and while he wasn’t technically Bucky’s superior, he was a senior and was among the people the made the decisions on Bucky’s operations.

In his first week Bucky got inside Rogers’ office and saw a five-feet-something skinny guy, in a all dark sharp suit and blond hair styled carefully, waiting for him with a polite smile, and if it wasn’t for the way he carried himself and ID card hanging over his neck Bucky wouldn’t guess the guy worked at SHIELD.

Steve introduced himself with a quick handshake and started to walk calmly, leading Bucky to a meeting room and talking about his first op at the Mayor’s niece birthday party or something like that. Bucky could admit he was only half paying attention, looking at his surroundings, taking in exits, entries, windows and the flow of people that always seemed in a rush.  That day Steve sat him down with the rest of the team and it all went down smoothly. It was clear that while Rogers had the final say, he heard everyone and changed plans if it seemed a better deal.

But if it weren’t for the rumors a week later, they wouldn’t have been friends at all, Steve would still call him Mr. Barnes and their meetings would be only scheduled for work.

Being recently discharged of the army after eight years in service, Bucky didn’t have friends on the outside world. So he made a point of hanging around the cafeteria in lunch, talking to some guys he had worked with in ops and, as he was the new guy on the block, making new acquaintances almost daily. He was a social person by nature, always was, and having company was something so essential to him that when he got home at night to an empty apartment he missed it. He missed the sense of not being alone, of someone to talk to or just to stay around, someone to draw him out of the noise inside his head (then he’d usually call Natasha and she’d answer depending on what part of the world she was or whose ass she was kicking).

So yes, Bucky liked being surrounded by people, even more of being a part of a team, but that didn’t mean he’d just accept anything or anyone for the sake of the company. And this Brock guy, he was getting to his nerves. He, and some guys that walked around with him like lost puppies licking its alpha’s butt.

But Bucky made a costume of not butting around people’s opinions about each other, not taking sides when he didn’t know both of those, so even if Rogers didn’t appear to be the self-righteous asshole Brock painted him to be, Bucky couldn’t agree or put it as a lie since he knew any of them for jack. So he ignored and observed, waiting for the tell that would make him go on or stay away from those guys.

It came from just a word.

“Fag,” Brock had sneered, when Steve passed through the tables to find a vacant seat. Bucky’s head immediately snapped to look at Brock, eyes narrowed and food forgotten. In his peripheral vision, he saw Steve stop his walk and turn.

“What did you say?” Bucky asked, fully sure of what he had heard.

“Oh, you don’t know, do ya?” Brock laughed and he seemed deeply amused as glanced at Bucky’s left, looking at Rogers, “Now you know.”

Bucky heard a huff that could be for indignation or disbelief but before Steve could say anything, Bucky got up, hands flat on the table, looming over the man in front of him. He hoped to God Brock could see the rage building in his veins, that he’d take it as the warning that it was, because Bucky could feel his muscles tensing with the verge of violence.  “You got a problem with that, pal?”

“What?” Brock raised an eyebrow. “You a faggot too?”

Bucky didn’t know what came next but when his head cleared Sam’s hand was firmly over his chest, backing him away, Clint holding his right arm and asking him to calm down. He only let them because they were nice people and, more so, they never walked with Brock. As if waking up of a blackout, he looked around and noticed that every person on the cafeteria had stopped to watch and he felt his heart clawing towards his throat, his breath short and strong.

 _Fuck_ , he closed his eyes for a second and pulled in a breath.

“Mr Barnes,” Steve said, voice icy, when Bucky opened his eyes, “Come with me.”

Bucky was still thrumming with the fight instinct and all the accumulated energy was still humming in his muscles, ready to leash out, to break someone’s face, but it all got cut with the notion that he was in trouble and he’d be pretty much fired if he made one step away from the line. Rogers couldn’t fire him directly, but he could recommend it to Fury and make his life very hard. So after apologizing to Sam and Clint, he pulled his chair up (when did it fall?) and let Steve guide him, blinking away the anger that still fogged his eyes, controlling his breath with counts just how he learned in training.

To his surprise Steve guided him to his office, not Fury’s, and closed the door behind them.

“What the hell was that?” Steve snapped, turning to glare at Bucky when he reached his table. He didn’t raise his voice and had put down his plate with burgers and fries calmly, but all of it was in the weight of Steve’s stare, furious and sharp. “Where you going to beat him in the middle of the cafeteria? You’d be fired and he’d still be laughing at my back. Do you think I can’t defend myself? I don’t need your misguided sense of chivalry or charity or pity, for god’s sake--”

“I hate it.” Bucky interrupted him and Steve did a double take, frowning.

“Excuse me?”

“That word. I fucking hate it,” Bucky said, ignoring how rough his voice sounded, how it was somehow harder to swallow, how his appetite was completely gone. He looked down at Steve’s dark silk tie, hand flexing closed and open in a fist repeatedly. “My dad used to call me that.”

Then Steve deflated with a long sigh and slowly sat down. When Bucky looked up again his face was still serious but his eyes held a warmth that he had never seen before.

“Come on,” Steve said, pulling his lunch closer to start to eat, “Sit down. You didn’t eat anything. Do you want my fries?”

After that, Bucky started to eat lunch with Steve every day, and he never regretted it, not even when Brock and his puppets started to talk crap with him too.

Bucky realized that Steve was not the typical closeted gay that worked in a hyper-masculine environment, making all to deny the rumors on the corridors or put warm blankets. No, he was above all that bullshit. Steve was gay and had no problem whatsoever with people talking about it, that some of the agents whispered offensive things behind his back like a bunch of middle schoolers with nothing better to do.

Bucky witnessed more than once when someone tried to give Steve shit that nothing seemed to got through him. He had this air, as if there was an invisible wall around where everything not worthy was repelled, and he had a way of looking at people, just look, that was it-- it wouldn’t as much as make him seem bigger, but make any poor victim feel so small that Steve could squash them with a flick of his toe. Bucky respected the hell out of it. He said as much to Steve later and the guy laughed and said: “I learned from my Ma”.

It was just the start of what became one of the easiest friendships Bucky ever had.

Their talks strayed from work to their tastes to their lives, and Bucky learned how Steve was an only child, that he took care of his mother that raised him by herself after his father passed away. He learned that Steve thought himself as boring and old-fashioned, that he had a penchant for jazz and old movies, and he blushed a little when he talked about Disney movies.  Bucky learned that Steve was very sick as a child and teenager, and didn’t make any friends until he got in college, that he wanted to do a Masters right after he graduated but Fury contacted him for an interview.

But more than that, he learned how Steve was quiet but not timid, calm but not complacent. The more Steve relaxed around him, more Bucky saw a strength that somehow seemed to complement a gentleness and kindness. It was an amazing thing to watch.

Four months later their daily lunches started to get compromised by the project of Stark’s annual charity auction and party. It was a big op, and as much as the Stark security team was collaborating, Steve was kind of a control freak ( _What?_ Steve had said, looking so innocent when Bucky told him as much, sipping his coffee and blinking his big eyes, _I don’t know what you’re talking about_ ) and didn’t want to leave the bigger part of the work for others.

So they traded indoors lunches for take-outs meals almost every day after Steve’s long shifts (Bucky’s workload hadn’t increased that much), and they’d alternate between their places since neither of them had the patience to be inside the always full NY restaurants.

Bucky liked the nights when Steve came to his place the best, because he had a big couch (he had a habit of sleeping on it) and a good TV (because of spaceships and dragons in HD), watching mindless television just to unwind. Steve would start sitting beside Bucky, suit jacket off, loose tie, and by the end of the night he’d be slouched, lying over his side almost curled, blinking sleepily.

But Stark’s party came and went and they never fell out of what was starting to feel as something as natural as blink.

So when Steve called him on a Thursday, inviting him to a Saturday antique movie festival and dinner, Bucky didn’t suspect anything was out of place. It was something they had never done before, sure, but hanging out with Steve was his usual choice in his free time, plus Steve had been talking about this festival for a while, going on and on about the reruns of remastered classics.

And when Steve said he’d get him at five and appeared well dressed in a cashmere sweater under a suit jacket, Bucky just thought that the place they’d eat must be kind of fancy and he was the one under-dressed with his leather jacket and boots. He asked if he should change, but Steve just smiled and said he looked good ( _of course not, you_ _look beautiful, Buck_ ), and led him to his car and they had an awesome time as they usually had.

It was pretty late when Steve brought him home, both of them hyped by the good food and good company. Bucky always felt like he didn’t want to let Steve go, didn’t want it to end, so he sighed quietly when he saw his building ahead, but smiled when Steve stopped the car right and turned to look at him. Steve turned the engine off, unbuckling the seat belt, and his big blue eyes were shining with the pools of light that came from the street.

“We should do this again soon,” Steve had said, with a smile that spread through his whole face, and it wasn’t possible for Bucky not to smile bigger.

“Of course,” Bucky had said, because _of course_ , but then Steve lifted a hand from the wheel and perched his long fingers on the side of Bucky’s face, thumb brushing his scruffy cheek and-- and Bucky froze on the spot. The touch tingled his senses and drove through skin as if he was feeling all over, something deeper, leaving traces of cold and anticipation on his gut. Anticipation for what, he didn’t know. Then Steve had leaned, cutting the short space between them with a blink, and kissed him.

Steve’s lips were small but plump, ever so soft, and his breath was warm, tinted with the coffee he drank after eating. Then Steve’s fingers ran to Bucky’s nape, fluffing his hair and scratching the roots slightly and Bucky felt the shiver run his spine and spread all over his body. It felt good, it felt amazing, but Bucky’s brain couldn’t stop running in circles screaming over and over that _Steve was kissing him what the fuck_ \--

Steve seemed to notice and backed away. Bucky felt his eyes spread big, as if increasing its size could make him see more of Steve’s face, could make him understand better what on Earth had moved that Steve was kissing him out of the blue.

And he could see the moment Steve saw Bucky’s confusion because it was the same he went fully away, recoiling in the driver’s side quickly, as if jolted with a shock.

“I’m- I’m sorry I thought, I,I,” Steve was looking ahead, eyes unfocused and breath coming in harsh short puffs as if he suddenly had run a marathon, “No, it doesn’t matter, I’m, I’m sorry.”

And Bucky had never seen Steve stammer before, had never seen him at a complete loss of words, and it made something drop heavy in Bucky’s stomach. He tried to search Steve’s eyes but Steve refused to look at him-- Worse when he tried to reach his hand, and Steve flinched as if Bucky had snapped with violence.

“Steve,” Bucky swallowed, trying to think of a way to fix something he didn’t know how he had broken, didn’t even know existed, and he could see Steve closing up for him too quick, regrouping to the same kind of professional detachment Bucky saw when they met, now more than half a year ago. “Steve, come on.”  He pleaded, quietly and he hoped his voice could carry the need for Steve just to look at him, to talk to him.

Steve said nothing, still staring out of the windshield, rigid with a tension that made him sit straight, alert. But Bucky knew better than to press. Nothing good ever came from pressuring Steve, and Bucky knew him well enough that this silence wasn’t the kind of silence that outright denied Bucky’s plea. It was the kind of silence that Steve had when he was evaluating routes, thinking risks, weighting choices, and Bucky knew he only had to wait.

He was still looking at Steve, waiting, when minutes later he saw Steve glance at him quickly by the corner of his eyes. Steve’s posture was still terse, but he had deflated from his flight and hide disposition to a resigned calmness.

“I thought you were reciprocating my intentions when you agreed with us being together,” Steve spoke quietly and clearly, his voice falling in the cadence of politeness he used on meetings, and still wasn’t looking at Bucky, “But that didn’t give me the right to kiss you without asking, so for that I’m sorry.”

“Being together?” Bucky blurted, heart caving his chest with the speed of beatings, utterly confused because _when the hell Steve had said that?_ What was going on?  “What?”

And then Steve looked at him, really looked, and Bucky saw the frown form between his eyes the longer he did, saw him lick his lips (a nervous tick) and title his head a little to the left (a thinking tick), and something cleared up in his eyes.

“You didn’t know.” Steve said, and it was not a question.

“Yes!” Bucky exhaled, relieved that Steve was understanding him, “You said, you said-- When did you said that?”

“You’re not… Rejecting me?” Steve asked, and there was something small in his voice that made Bucky not blurt the first thing inside his head, made him just take a second ( _take a second, Buck, look that for me_ ) and make sure that he wouldn’t take back anything that came out of his mouth.

Because he already knew the answer. The answer was that he would never reject Steve, but not rejecting him stepped inside a bush full of wasps.

Steve waited, eyes moving, searching something in Bucky’s face. And Bucky saw in front of him the closest friend he had since he left Natasha in the army, the most comfortable companionship since, since-- he didn’t even know if there were any deserving comparisons, really. Someone who understood his quirks and tells, who accepted his need of having a person around even if in silence, that didn’t snap or called him needy for not wanting to be alone. Someone that molded itself in Bucky’s side with a kind of synchronicity that it was rare even for long time friends.

Bucky saw socked toes poking his leg while watching TV, the vulnerability of the bent knobby knees outlined by soft pants and Steve curled on his side, how Bucky always itched to reach and hoped every time that Steve never looked so soft in front of anybody else. He saw Steve’s dedication and competence, saw the warmth he gave for those that were close to him, the loyalty he inspired and-- he was overwhelmed, felt tiny in front of the greatness of a thing he couldn’t ever be worthy for.

His chest felt swollen and he looked down, pulling a breath, hearing his throat click loudly when he tried to swallow the lump closing it. He was so sure that Steve would never look at him like that, so sure they’d never risk this safe place they fell into, this easy rhythm that made him feel so good, so alive.

“It’s okay if you are.” Steve said, and Bucky looked up sharply, to find himself still being watched, “I didn’t mean to spring this on you and-”

“I’m not,” Bucky blurted in, “I’m not.” He repeated, to be sure he was saying it out loud. It felt almost surreal. He breathed in and out, trying to scramble his neurons to something akin to order--

“But..?” Steve asked, softly. There was something in his expression, like he was hopeful but trying not to be, and it cut cold in Bucky’s heart. “I’m sensing there’s a but.”

And usually Bucky would make a crass joke about _of course you’re sensing my butt_ , and Steve would roll his eyes and hide his laugh with a disapproving glare, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t play with the expression he saw on Steve’s face. He had all his emotions out in the open and Bucky could see the pure affection, the longing and how somehow Steve expected that Bucky would never not reject him in the end.

Bucky played inside his head, saw himself saying _I’m sorry but_ \-- But what? _I’m too scared_ , _I’m not good enough, there’s too much noise inside my head_ \-- He wouldn’t say any of it and still Steve would understand. More, Steve would respect and he’d collect the feelings he put in Bucky’s hands and he’d never ask for more. Bucky could see it, how Steve would never try to convince him or argue if he decided not to, but he also could see that Steve, that had never played his emotions loosely and didn’t cheapen feelings, would feel rejected and-- and just the thought of making Steve feel sad, it--

“No,” Bucky said, shaking his head a little almost as an afterthought, “No, there isn’t.”

Inside the car was still warm, but Bucky knew his hands would feel cold and clammy when he reached for Steve’s own. This time Steve let Bucky hold it and he seized the opportunity, squeezing a little, tracing his palm and pulse with the brush of his thumb.

“Are you sure?” Steve said, flicking his eyes between their hands and Bucky’s face, “You’re not just saying yes because you think you should?”

“You know me better, I never do the things I should.” Bucky tried for a joke and got a smile for his effort, but he could see how Steve still was lingering in doubt.

“Bucky--”

“No, Steve,” Bucky cut in, knowing how much Steve hated that, but he had to say it quickly before he lost his guts, “Of course-- of course I want you. I just- I never thought,” He looked down at Steve’s pale fingers, and Bucky’s hand was too unsteady to do much more than squeeze them now. He licked his lips, frustrated with the loss of words. “You’re, you’re _you_ , and I’m just-- I never thought you’d want me too.”

“Bucky,” Steve whispered and Bucky refused to look up, so deeply embarrassed, almost ashamed of how true that felt, of how he lacked what to give to Steve. He didn’t want to Steve to see that, so he held his face down even when he heard the suit murmur against the car seat.

Steve had gotten closer, turning to his side on the seat, reaching his left hand to Bucky’s cheek. The warm palm was right over Bucky’s jaw and Bucky felt fingers touching his ear, thumb caressing under his eye.

“How could I not?” Steve asked, softly, and pulled Bucky’s face up gently, searching for his eyes, “You’re so special, you know that? So amazing.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest but Steve shushed him, pulling him inside his arms. Bucky didn’t resist, burying his face on Steve’s delicate shoulder, breathing in his soft scent. He closed his eyes and felt himself relax inside the firm hug, under the trail of a hand through his back and the exhales warming his temple. And he didn’t let go for a long, long while. His senses felt muted to his surroundings, sounds blending, smells blurring, all of it purely concentrated towards Steve and nothing more.

The adrenaline had faded now, and while his heart was still beating heavily, it was slower, soothed somehow. But it left him with an aftertaste as if the reality almost seemed like an experience outside his body, something surreal enough he couldn’t trust, something frail enough he couldn’t grasp. He knew Steve wouldn’t change his mind, wouldn’t turn and say _just kidding_ , because Steve wasn’t like that. Steve was honest and kind. Bucky trusted him. But Bucky didn’t trust himself to not screw this up.

“Let’s go slow, okay?” Steve said, after long minutes of stretched silence, “One step at time.”

Bucky swallowed loudly, feeling his throat too dry, and couldn’t stop how his arms tightened his hold over Steve’s small waist. “Yeah,” He said, “Okay.”

“Good.” Steve murmured and Bucky felt the press of a kiss in his cheek. He didn’t think twice and turned his face just enough to steal Steve’s mouth in its way. This time he let himself wander, let himself test the corners of Steve’s lips and learn the shapes and taste of its skin. It became a slow dance of lips moving, caressing, pressing, sucking gently. It remained chaste, superficial, but when Bucky stopped and pecked a look, Steve looked a little dazed, almost dreamy.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, smiling, his hand coming up to pass through Bucky’s hair, following the strands with gentle care.

“Hey.” Bucky answered, and turned to bury his face back, squirming until his nose was against the soft corner of Steve’s neck. He felt his cheek burning and his lips tingling, tongue tracing and chasing Steve’s kiss. It took some seconds but Bucky gathered enough courage from the way Steve held him to ask, “Come up with me?”

Bucky received a couple of kisses on his temple, a soft “of course,” and when they arranged themselves over the couch, Bucky felt something settle deep in his chest the second after Steve curled on his side. It soothed some undercover fear of changing things to the point of awkwardness, because things had changed, sure, but just enough to be better.

So he laid his head over Steve’s shoulder and pressed as close as possible. Steve’s arm was around him, fingers on his hair, stroking gently while they watched some cooking show they put on randomly. And when Bucky woke up the next morning, sprawled over the couch, the first thing he saw was a mop of blond hair over his chest, the first thing he felt was the warmth covering his body and soft breathing against his shirt.

He smiled and forgot to be scared just for a little longer. He closed his eyes and felt the quietness inside his head.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted some fluff, I wrote some fluff. It was mostly accidental and partially unconscious. Sorry for any mistakes!  
> Kuddos and comments tastes like cookies and tea, yes please *makes grabby hands*  
> Thanks for reading!


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